


so we can start it all over again

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's trying to find himself, Niall's trying to chase his dream. They meet alone on Christmas Eve by chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so we can start it all over again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disequilibrium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disequilibrium/gifts).



> So I tried to be really sly and act like I hadn't gotten you for my pinch hit (idk how successful I was at that??)... but this prompt was adorable and I hope I did it justice. You've been so terribly patient and I didn't want you to have to wait any longer than you had been and I love yooou <3  
> And to everyone else, I hope you enjoy!

_I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you’re not, I hope you find the courage to start all over again. – F. Scott Fitzgerald_

Harry stares down at his own handwriting, fingers tracing the neat printing. There’s faint smudging around the words, the ink bleeding away from their original lines. It makes it all feel more real, like it’s trying to break away from where it’s supposed to stay on the page. Somehow, it’s all too relatable. He remembers writing it almost crystal clear, sitting in a cramped airport in London, waiting for his flight with trembling hands. Where he had broken away from where he was supposed to have stayed. The simple quote was the reason he was here, sitting in an almost empty diner on Christmas Eve with the thick smell of burned coffee in the air and the wind rattling against the building relentlessly outside. The words scribbled across the page had been his motivation for all of this. 

He wonders what his mum is doing, hopes that his sister managed to make it home from Uni so she wasn’t alone. She was better than he was, she would have found a way. Guilt bubbles in his stomach again. He isn’t there, but he should be. He’s too stubborn to pack everything up again and come back, he’s not ready yet. A post card, a Christmas card – they had to suffice for the holiday season. They weren’t the fancy presents that Harry had imagined sending off, but it had to do. Maybe he’s being selfish, too proud to turn around and come home even for the holidays. He looks down at the plate in front of him, a half-eaten muffin and a cold cup of coffee were hardly an ideal Christmas Eve dinner. He had tried to tell himself if he closed his eyes and imagined hard enough, he could pretend it was honey glazed ham with a mountain of mashed potatoes on the side. However, no extent of his imagination could make the warmed up muffin taste like a proper Christmas dinner.

He’s aware of someone standing in front of him without having to look up. The boy quietly clear his throat, and Harry closes his notebook. He doesn’t need to see messy notes and hopeful ideas that will probably lead to nothing.

“I hate to do this,” the boy says, teeth toying with his lower lip for a moment before continuing, “but it’s Christmas Eve so we’re closing early.”

The boy is all big brown eyes, and Harry smiles amicably.

“Of course.”

It’s Christmas Eve, it makes sense. He’s surprised that they even let him sit in here for as long as he had been. The boy, Liam – according to his name tag – looks relieved about it all, carefully taking his unfinished dishes and walking away. Harry almost tells him that he could have cleared his table up, but the poor soul probably just wants to go home to his family. His heart feels a bit heavier at the realization, and he clumsily shoves the worn notebook back in his bag, hoists it over his shoulder before pushing himself to his feet. He looks around the diner, wonders if maybe there’s something tacked onto the pale yellow walls that he could find some inspiration in that he had missed earlier. He doesn’t find anything new, just the same restlessness in his stomach and heaviness against his chest that had been there since before he walked through the door.

He wishes them all a merry Christmas, being sure to thank them for everything before trudging back into the snow. A white Christmas was always such a nice thought, but Harry finds himself inwardly cursing the cool air nipping at his cheeks as he pulls his scarf up higher. Despite the wind and snow, there’s still a few last minute Christmas shoppers, and it makes Harry feel a bit better being out in the weather. He knows he should probably go back to his room in the hostel, but it’s Christmas Eve and there’s a part of him that still wants to be around people for just a bit longer. Passing unfamiliar faces on the street makes him feel a little less alone, and it distracts him from the inevitable hollowness in his chest that on a day that is supposed to be spent with family, he’s wandering the streets alone in a brand new city.

That was the point of a fresh start, to make new adventures and make a new life, but tonight the homesickness settled into his bones heavier than the cold outside. As much as he wanders, busies himself jotting down things in his notebook in some sort of hope that _something_ will feel right, he can’t quite shake the feeling that only grew as the countdown to the holidays got smaller and smaller.

Harry sucks in another breath, the coolness of the air harsh on his throat, and falls into step behind another hurried shopper.

\--

He finds a few small presents wandering through the stores, catching a few just before they close. There’s something for his sister, something for his mum. He’s managed to find them something, and he feels like it should count for something. It doesn’t make him feel any better, as much as he tries to convince himself it does. By the time he’s scavenged a few things, the weather’s kicked up an even bigger fuss. He can see the sleety flakes of snow rushing past with the wind, and he really doesn’t want to go back out into that. He knows the shop keepers are getting antsy, he can’t bring himself to wander down the aisles for much longer with that in mind.

He’s about to give up and go back to the hostel, but the flickering light of an open sign catches his attention, and Harry’s shouldering his way into the bar without another thought. The stools are empty, tucked close to the bar. Harry can hear someone humming along to the Christmas music echoing through the empty room. It’d be a bit eerie, he thinks, if it weren’t for the Christmas lights twinkling along the edges of the walls, or the occasional wreath clumsily hanging off of nails that were hardly hanging on. If anything, the decorations are a bit unsightly, but they give the room a Christmas feel.

Damp curls stick to his face, left in a disarray from the wind and the snow. He pushes his hair out of his face, finally catching sight of the bartender humming along to himself, wiping the counter down. Harry hesitates for a half step, wondering if he caught him just on the tail end of a closing shift.

He clears his throat once, “are you closed?”

The bartender looks up at him, staring at him in silence for a moment longer than Harry feels comfortable with. The hesitation seems like a good enough answer for Harry, confirms what he had already been wondering and he’s stepping back to leave. He watches the other man’s shoulders fall a little, throwing the towel over his shoulder.

“You can stay,” he tells him, a bit begrudgingly if anything.

Harry feels like he’s invaded on some moment, and his hands raise apologetically. “It’s okay, really. It’s Christmas Eve, I’m sure there are other places you want to be.”

He shakes his head, walking toward him to flick the open sign off.

“Don’t have anywhere better to be. I don’t mind the company.”

Harry isn’t entirely sure how much truth is behind his words, but he’s smiling at him and for once it’s enough for Harry to trust. He’ll believe him for now, and he gets himself settled up on a bar stool, bag resting by his feet. He’s still smiling at him, creases settling in the corners of his eyes as he leans against the bar, closer to Harry.

“What can I get ya?”

He hasn’t even gotten that far, but he shrugs.

“Whatever’s on tap is fine.”

He seems pleased by this, turning his back to Harry before grabbing two mugs. “I’m Niall, by the way,” he tells him, back still turned to Harry.

He notices his accent, thick when he says his name. Harry feels another wave of homesickness roll through him, and he’s not sure how he missed that before. “M’Harry,” he offers in return, nodding his head in a thank you when Niall slides the drink toward him. The drink sloshes a little, foam threatening to seep over the top of the mug. He tries to hold it still, scooting forward in his chair to try and drink a little down. The beer isn’t bad, a bit nutty if anything.

Niall gives him another easy smile, taking a generous sip of the drink. Harry still feels bad, but Niall still seems in good spirits about it all.

“You sure you don’t have anywhere else to be?” He asks, a bit hesitantly. It really isn’t his business, but he can’t help himself. It’s Christmas Eve after all, and Harry wouldn’t forgive himself if he was keeping him away from his family tonight.

Niall takes another long drink, shakes his head.

“Nope.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and Harry isn’t going to push it. He focuses instead on the warm glow from the fake fireplace in the corner, the way the light stretches across the room reminds him of a bar in Prague. One with wooden walls and warm lights hanging from the walls, it had the same kind of feeling that this place did, even if he was miles away. Prague had felt like it was going to have the answers, then again Harry had held on to the same optimism with every new border he crossed. The thing is, he doesn’t really know what he’s looking for. He just knows it’s something, and he couldn’t find it in the green fields and cobblestone streets.

He knows that he wasn’t happy, as much as he wanted to be. There was so much of the world out there, so much that he needed to see. Cheshire was lovely, he loved his job and the people he saw every day, but there was so much more out there. It wasn’t a life he was proud of, and this was his chance to try again. It isn’t the best logic, he knows it and it’s been pointed out to him before. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, he can’t properly justify it when he’s asked; it’s something past inspiration that crawls through his veins and fuels him forward when the sun stretches up across the horizon again.

His companion seems lost in thought over something, hands curled around the mug damp with condensation. Harry can hear the walls shuddering against the wind outside, snow still falling in a steady blur from the sky. He watches Niall for a long moment in silence, muses that he misses the sun and the heat. Maybe his next destination will be somewhere warm, a place where he won’t arrive to a storm rolling in. He isn’t sure how he comes to that conclusion staring at the boy. His eyes are pale, something that feel like they should be cold and unforgiving like the weather beyond the door, but there’s a warmth there like the sun in Italy before Harry had relocated to a location where Winter closed in and didn’t leave without leaving a mark.

Niall seems troubled in the moment, or maybe just distracted. Harry isn’t sure. It’s none of his business, but he’s always curious. It’s why he’s here, some sort of cocktail of curiosity and plain stubbornness dictating this entire journey he’s taking himself on. He swings his legs under the bar, tucking them firmly beneath the stool before leaning a bit closer.

“Why are you all alone on Christmas eve, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Despite seeming lost in thought, Niall answers without much hesitation. “Why are you?” He’s got an eyebrow cocked, but there’s no sharpness to his words.

Harry sucks his lower lip between his teeth, trying to decide on an appropriate answer to that.

“My family’s back overseas. I’m the only one out this way.”

He was sure he could have found some sort of celebration in the hostel. He wasn’t the only one away from home. Niall hums in agreement, looks at Harry for a moment before sliding his drink across the bar and steps around to take a seat up beside him.

“Me too.”

He gets a closer look at him now, straight white teeth and carefully styled hair. Harry finishes his beer, licks his lips once. He doesn’t know what to make of Niall just yet, but they’re both alone on Christmas Eve and Harry’s grateful for the company, even if he’s sitting in an empty bar beside a complete stranger.

“You’re not from around here, then. How do you like it?” Niall asks, and his gaze is almost uncomfortably intent on Harry.

It’s typical small talk, it’s easy. He’s gotten good at this after seeing so many faces in the past few months. Harry sinks into the bar, running his finger over the condensation settled on the mug. “So far so good. The weather has been less than desirable though, especially right now.” He doesn’t look over his shoulder, the possibility of getting snowed in with him trickles into his mind. That might make for a good story, if anything.

“That’s winter for you.”

Niall notices his empty glass, and knocks back the rest of his before stepping back around the bar.

“Want another?”

“Sure.”

It isn’t like he has anywhere else to be. He thanks Niall quietly when he slides his mug back toward him. Harry takes a deep sip, trying hard not to watch Niall too obviously as he gets settled back on the stool beside him.

“How long have you lived here for?” Harry questions a bit carefully.

He wants to ask how he ended up here. The story is one that feels like it had some potential to it. He knows better than to just ask, there’s some things you keep to yourself when you first meet someone. Even if he probably won’t see him again after tonight, he tries to have decent manners.

There’s something in Niall’s face that changes, and Harry watches him swallow back more beer. It feeds his curiosity, but Niall’s smiling easily again. Maybe it was just his imagination, or maybe Niall was trying to deceive him. Harry doesn’t like to be skeptical, doesn’t like to make assumptions.

“Five months, maybe four? Moved here with one of my mates until he took off.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, keeping his hands curled tight around the cup.

“You didn’t go with him?”

He almost apologizes, he shouldn’t pry. But he has to ask questions, it’s what he does, it’s who he is.

“No.”

Niall’s humouring him, but Harry doesn’t push further. There’s something about his tone that makes his heart sink in his stomach. The reason isn’t one he’s aware of, but even if Niall’s expression remains neutral, there’s something more buried beneath the surface. He feels the need to change the topic now that he’s caused the pause in the conversation. It isn’t a pleasant one, it isn’t comfortable.

He tries to lighten the mood, asks him what he likes about the city and if there’s anything he should see. Niall seems intent on telling him about a few places he likes, and Harry hangs onto the little tips he gives him. They’re useful, thoughtful. The small talk is safe, comfortable, and Harry feels like he could listen to Niall talk for as long as he wants. He seems to have something to say about everything, and Harry likes that about him.

“You’re not going to get into shit for letting me stay, are you?” He asks, once Niall finishes telling him about a hole in the wall breakfast place that tourists always overlook.

Niall grins, lifting his glass to his lips.

“Nah, the boss is out of country for Christmas. He got to go somewhere hot and tropical with his family… what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, anyways.”

\--

He’s just finished his third beer, and he feels the heat creeping up to his cheeks. He blames the fact that he’s been surviving off of coffee and a half eaten muffin for most of the day. It was far from a hardy meal to be drinking on. Leaning his weight into the bar, he looks over at Niall, noticing the redness that outlines his ears and spreads across his own cheeks.

“Is this your first Christmas on your own?”

Maybe it isn’t the best question, but he can’t take it back now. There wasn’t much thought behind it, he couldn’t have even tried stopped himself if he tried. He’s thankful that Niall seems kind, he doesn’t take offense to the questions that he probably shouldn’t be asking. He didn’t kick him out on Christmas Eve after hours. That counts for something, too.

“Yeah. I couldn’t get a flight back for Christmas, it was way too expensive. My dad’s on his own, which sucks, but I couldn’t ask him for that. I picked up extra shifts in November… but it just wasn’t enough.”

Niall’s shoulders slump, rounding out his posture. It isn’t hard to piece together that Niall feels bad, and Harry can feel the sinking feeling wash over him. His reason for not going home seems so stupid. He could have, if he wanted. He had been smart with his savings, spent sparingly over the years in some hope that one day he’d be able to see the world. Then there’s Niall, who seems like he would have gone home without a second thought given the chance.

“I’m sorry,” he says, unable to hide the guilt in his voice even if there’s nothing he can do.

Niall smiles at him, rolling his shoulders in a shrug.

“It isn’t your fault. Flights are expensive around Christmas, that’s just life.”

Harry wants to point out that it still isn’t fair, that he’s sorry Niall couldn’t make it back home.

“Where’s home, anyways?”

“Mullingar.”

“I was in Dublin for a bit earlier this year. Never been, though.”

There’s a fondness to Niall’s expression that hadn’t been there earlier. It softens his features, takes away some of the earlier tension that Harry wouldn’t have even noticed if there hadn’t been that shift.

“You should go sometime. If you ever go back.”

Harry grins, all teeth and maybe too enthusiastically.

“I will.”

He doesn’t know when he’ll find himself back across the Atlantic. It won’t be forever. He knows it won’t, but the journey back still seems so far away. Yet his words are firm, some sort of empty promise if he ever returns that he’ll go. He doesn’t know what compels him to say it, but there’s something about Niall with his voice and his smile that makes Harry not want to break this one, even if he isn’t sure how much truth the words hold.

He pushes back the loose curls that fall in his face, eyes wandering around the bar again. He’s glad he just happened to walk in, Niall seems like better company than anyone else he could have ran into tonight. They both just happened to be alone on Christmas Eve, in the same city. Maybe there’s some significance there, maybe it’s the hopeful writer in him looking for a plot that didn’t exist. Harry prefers the first option, likes to think that everything in the world happens for some reason or another.

The sound of Niall’s voice welcomes back to reality, pulls him from the thoughts that he hadn’t realized he’d gotten lost in.

“You’re a long ways from home.”

Harry tilts his head. It’s supposed to be flirty, but it’s clumsy and he’s grinning for a reason he isn’t sure of.

“Why?” Niall asks.

Harry hadn’t expected to intrigue Niall enough for him to ask. Usually he was the one asking questions, and his brow furrows as he contemplates the answer.  There’s that heavy feeling back in his stomach, because there was Niall who wished he could be home and Harry who couldn’t let himself be there.

“It’s a long story.”

Niall raises his eyebrows, gestures around the empty bar.

“We have time. Unless you suddenly have somewhere you need to be.”

He slumps into the bar, looks over at Niall. His expression sobers a little, and tries to think of a way to explain the chaos that has been the last few months. It isn’t that it’s complicated, really. To him it’s so simple, others don’t seem to understand it the way he does. His mum doesn’t understand it the way he does.

“I needed a change,” Harry begins, “I’ve been gone for a few months. Traveling, went around Europe over the summer and fall, ended up in New York a few weeks ago. Now I’m here.”

Niall’s nodding slowly, Harry isn’t sure if he actually understands, not that there’s much more than what he told him. He wants to make Niall wrap his head around it for some reason – he blames it on the beer, the fuzziness and warmth that’s settled in his body.

“I could have went home for Christmas,” he admits, voice quieter now. “I _should_ have went home for Christmas. That would’ve been the right thing to do, wouldn’t’ve it?” It was more of a rhetorical question, he doesn’t expect Niall to answer.

He doesn’t let him answer.

“I couldn’t though… not yet. I’m probably being selfish, because it’s Christmas and I can leave again. But what if I went back and couldn’t leave again?”

It feels weird, saying the constant mantra that plays through his mind aloud. He’s not used to voicing these things. It feels to intimate, like something he should be keeping to himself. But Niall’s a stranger, it doesn’t matter if he pours his secrets into him. It was safer this way, to place little pieces of him on someone else, someone that he probably won’t see again when the beer wears off and he finds it in himself to step back out into the snow.

Harry lowers his voice, unsure of why he’s still telling Niall all of this.

“I managed a bakery back home. I couldn’t do that forever, it wasn’t what I wanted to do. There’s so much more out there than Cheshire, and I could share that with the world. What’s the point of seeing the world and keeping that all to yourself? I wanted to write something about it, and like… find the inspiration to do it. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

He runs a hand through his hair again, fingers catching on the tangled strands. His chest is tight, and it occurs to him that Niall’s the first one that’s actually listened. Niall’s the first person, for some reason, that Harry’s told any of this to without any repercussion. There isn’t the weary ache of regret in his bones for opening his mouth and saying too much. If anything, Harry almost feels a bit better. He looks over at Niall, the warm light from the fire casting a shadow over his face, but his expression is thoughtful. He’s listening, considering what Harry has to say.

“I know it sounds dumb. It is dumb, isn’t it? I just felt so stuck. I needed… I needed a fresh start.”

Niall traces a blemish on the wooden counter top with his finger, looks over at Harry with a rueful smile.

“It isn’t dumb to want to start over again.”

Averting his gaze, Harry tucks his feet around the legs of the stool. There’s something reassuring about his words, makes him feel like the parts of his heart shattered by guilt settle back into their place. It’s good to get it off his chest, good to be heard. He’s talked so many people in the past few months, but he’s never really been able to have a conversation like this. Not one that digs beneath the surface of superficial small talk and shared complaints.

“It’s kind of funny,” Niall tells him, and Harry knows it’s his turn to listen. He’s good at listening, if anything. He likes to hear secrets, wonders if he can ever build them into something more later in his life if he ever finds it in his heart to able to get something down on paper again.

“I kind of came here to start over again, too.”

His words hang in the air for a long moment as he knocks back the remainder of his beer.

“Not really start over, it was a change. It all sounded really good. Move over seas with the person you think is going to be by your side forever. Louis supported me, I wanted-“

He presses his lips together, and Harry realizes he’s leaning closer at the pause. He straightens himself back up, tries to find a way to busy himself so he isn’t just staring at Niall.

“I _want_ to be a singer. That’s why I work here, they do live music sometimes. Boss is good to me, he lets me play when the opportunity comes up. It always sounds more real to be a singer here, closer to LA. Even if we’re on the wrong coast.”

Harry smiles, though it falters as Niall continues on.

“No one tells you that it isn’t as easy as it sounds. Moving, I mean. Not the whole singing thing, I know that’s a lot of work. We weren’t ready, it was too soon. It wasn’t fair on either of us to really think it was going to work, but you’re not going to admit that to yourself, are you? I think we both kind of knew it was set to fail though.”

Niall turns in his stool to face Harry better. Harry realizes that his earlier suspicion was right, that maybe there had been more to the original story that Niall had been letting on. 

“He was more than just a friend, if you hadn’t guessed that much. We broke up a few months ago when he wanted to go home.”

Harry murmurs an apology, one that Niall shrugs off.

“It happens.”

He reaches hesitantly, giving Niall’s knee and tentative squeeze. Harry half expects him to flinch away at his touch, but Niall drops his hand on top of his. He smiles at him, and Harry can see in his eyes that it’s harder to talk about than he’s letting on. The warmth of Niall’s hand lingers on his skin, and Harry’s too distracted to even notice the way his pulse quickens for just a second before settling into something comfortable again. A feeling of ease washes through him, warm and serene. He pays no mind to it, blames it on the alcohol and Niall’s eyes. Niall pulls his gaze away from Harry’s, looking off at the artificial flame crackling in the distance. He doesn’t ask more, just gives his leg another little squeeze before pulling his hand away.

\--

As the wind howls on outside, Harry becomes more and more glad that Niall hadn’t turned him away. The weather forecast plays bleakly in the background, predicting to no one’s surprise that heavy snow will continue to fall throughout the night. Harry listens intently as Niall talks about Christmas in their home, and Harry still feels like it’s some weird twist of fate that they found each other tonight. He learns that they like the same music, and a bit more about Niall and how he lived with his dad and brother. Niall speaks of his dad fondly, offering Harry a little sheepish shrug once he finishes telling him about how they all try and help with Christmas dinner but it always ends up being some sort of disaster.

“My mum doesn’t like when I try and help. I always get in the way,” he tells him. He runs a hand over his face, slumping into the bar. He feels a bit unsteady, and he’s using the bar for balance at this point more than he cares to admit.

“I should call her,” Harry concedes. “It’s Christmas and I haven’t called her.”

Niall scoffs at him, clumsily nudging his arms.

“It’s fucking Christmas. You better call her. I talked to my dad this morning. Do it now, don’t think about it.”

Harry reaches to pull his phone out, trying to do the mental calculation of what time it is back home. Niall stumbles off of his stool, disappears off into some back room. Harry doesn’t question him, just slides his finger across the screen and hears the faint ringing echoing from the speaker before he puts his phone to his ear. The sound of his mum’s voice on the other line sends a cold wave of homesickness back through him. She sounds so happy to hear from him, and Harry feels sick to his stomach. He should have called earlier, he should call more. He can’t remember the last time they spoke, it isn’t something he’s proud of.

He notices Niall from the corner of his eye, sitting on a chair off past the bar with his guitar propped against a knee. He’s playing quietly, and Harry probably would have missed it if he hadn’t noticed him there. His mum tells him about Gemma surprising her over break, and Harry can’t help but to smile. He’s glad his sister was better than him, he should have known that she wouldn’t dare let their mum be alone on Christmas. He’ll give her a call, thank her – that can wait until tomorrow. His lower lip is sore from toying at the aggravated skin with his teeth, but he can’t help it as he listens to her talk about the dinner she has to make. The conversation isn’t long, but it’s enough to him feel a bit less ashamed about it all and promise to call her once she’s done dinner. He makes sure to murmur an apology before the conversation ends, one that is easily accepted but not enough to clear his conscious.

Niall looks up at him once he hangs the phone up, playing something that sounds familiar to Harry.

“Feel better?” He asks, setting his guitar down after Harry’s hung up.

“Yeah. She was happy. I was worried I’d wake her up but she was awake trying to figure out what she needed for dinner.”

“You could have just blamed the time difference, too.”

Niall settles back heavily in the stool beside him, drumming his fingers against the counter.

Harry hums in agreement, “true.”

He’s aware of the heaviness behind his eyes. He tries to blink it back, watching Niall who still has a bright tint to his cheeks. “I love this song,” he tells him. Harry’s brow knits together, and it takes a beat too long for him to become aware of the radio again. He doesn’t remember when he tuned it out, but it doesn’t matter.

“It’s a good one.”

He doesn’t actually figure out what song it is before he tells him that, but it satisfies Niall. “What were you playing when I was on the phone?” He asks, changing the subject before Niall can comment more on it. The embarrassment of being caught in that comment is a risk he isn’t willing to take.

“Nothing. I was just playing around with it.”

It’s quiet between them again, but it isn’t uncomfortable like the silence when Harry had first sat down. He didn’t feel like he would suffocate in it. He almost welcomed it, and he’s glad he lets it sit for a moment or else he would have missed Niall’s quiet comment: “I’m glad you decided to stop in.”

“Me too.”

He nudges his knee against Niall’s, offering him a little smile.

“Much better than being alone,” Harry continues. It’s an afterthought; one that’s true and necessary.

“I wasn’t looking forward to watching some cheesy Christmas movie on my own. They’re sad enough as it is.”

“They usually have happy endings, don’t they? The Christmas miracle is what makes them a good seller.”

“It’s false advertising.”

The corners of his lips fall from the earlier cheeky grin. Niall’s laughing, and Harry dramatically slumps back into the bar, trying to look as relieved as he can.

“You can’t do that!”

Niall seems all too pleased with himself.

“You should have seen your face.”

Harry tries his best to give him a look that should be offended, but he can’t help but to smile. He’s glad he’s here, too.

\--

Somehow, Niall convinces him to have another round. There’s no harm at this point, Harry has no desire to try and go outside in the weather. The roads’ll be quiet later, he’s sure he can manage the walk back at some point. Niall’s in good spirits, and there’s something contagious about it – Harry’s grinning back, drinking back his beer as carefully as he can at this point. He’d be embarrassed normally, because he prides himself on being able to have a bit more coordination at this point of the nights, but Niall seems no better off.

“I normally hate this song,” Niall informs him.

Harry frowns, listening harder to try and figure out which he’s talking about. He recognizes Winter Wonderland, and he chuckles.

“But it’s _Bublé._ So I have to love this song by default. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

Niall hums along, and Harry can’t help but to smile. He’s quirky, he isn’t afraid to tell him the things he likes and doesn’t. Harry admires that, and maybe he’s the alcohol that has Niall not caring if he makes a good impression or not. He is who he is, and Harry wants to know more. He furrows his brow as Niall pushes himself to his feet, listening to the soft lull of Winter Wonderland in the background.

“I wanna dance. Will you dance with me?”

He’s holding his hands out toward Harry, and he can’t say no to the smile on his face. He tells himself the same thing he’s been telling himself all night, if he makes a fool of himself, it won’t matter because the likelihood of ever seeing Niall again is slim to none. Though the possibility doesn’t sit well with him now, he wants to see him again, wants to know more. Harry stumbles a few steps toward him, laughing when their hands meet.

“I’m rubbish at this,” he warns him lowly. Rubbish a good day when he hasn’t been drinking, though on a good day he probably wouldn’t have said yes.

Niall doesn’t seem bothered, just pulls Harry along and sways with the steady beat of a song that Harry isn’t familiar with. He’s laughing again, corners of his eyes crinkling and Harry can’t help but to laugh too, leaning into him a little.

“I told you I was bad at this.”

“You’re kind of awful,” Niall admits. Harry doesn’t take offense, he had warned him after all.

He looks down at Niall, lips pressing together in a thin line. He doesn’t know how someone could just leave him behind and go back to their life somewhere else. Niall takes an off balanced step closer, leaning into him as he sways along to the steady beat of the song. Harry lets it be quiet between them, there isn’t much that needs to be said. He tries his best to focus on where he’s putting his feet, legs feeling heavier than usual.

“It’s Louis’ birthday today.”

Harry looks back down at Niall, meeting bright blue eyes that hold a sudden seriousness to them.

“I didn’t wish him happy birthday. I couldn’t. I’m… I’m glad you showed up because tonight was _really_ going to suck. I pictured my Christmas a lot different. This is different, but it’s a good different.”

Harry feels his throat tighten a little at what he says, and he gives Niall’s hands a little squeeze, hoping that somehow it conveys that the feeling is mutual. His voice is so quiet, he’s afraid to speak, doesn’t want to say something to ruin whatever he feels right now. A slow breath falls from his lips. He’s suddenly aware of the proximity between them, and how easy it feels with Niall so close. He lets his eyes fall closed, listening to the quiet beat of his heart echoing in his ears.

“Hey, merry Christmas, Niall,” he murmurs, realizing that he had yet to tell him that. He opens an eye, laughing quietly when he finds Niall smiling back up at him.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.”

The pressure that usually lives in the center of his chest is gone, and the realization is one that almost scares him. It had been what sent him off and away from Cheshire, sent him going from country to country in some sort of hope to ease that anxiety and find the clarity again. He stares down at Niall, thankful that he isn’t looking back at him now, wonders if maybe this entire time he couldn’t find what he was looking for because he was looking for the wrong thing. Maybe, just maybe he had been trying to find that inspiration in the wrong spots. A fresh start didn’t have to be somewhere, but something to settle the restlessness – someone to quiet the anxious mantra that he had to start over to find some sort of inspiration again.

Niall’s eyes meet his again, and Harry’s cheeks flush at being caught staring. He swallows hard, letting out a slow breath before speaking again: “things are going to be okay.”

He isn’t sure what compels him to say it, and he frowns at himself again.

“It’ll all make sense eventually, won’t it? Everything is going to be okay.”

He doesn’t know what he means by it, he isn’t sure if he’s saying it for Niall or himself at this point.

Niall must believe him, because before Harry can really realize what’s happening, he’s leaning up on his toes, lips pressing firmly against his. Harry kisses him back firmly, squeezing his hands that he’s forgotten he’s been holding this entire time. When he pulls away, they’re both smiling. The tranquility in his heart was one that had been absent for a long time, and Harry doesn’t know what to make of it finally coming back.

Harry looks outside, unsurprised to see the blur of white still lashing on outside the window. It was what he had felt like for so long, restless and volatile. It had to be more than just a coincidence, Harry decides. The romantic in him wants to believe that it means something significant, the story of two people being in the same place at the right time. It’s a classic, it’s a story he never thought he’d write, let alone live.

He lets out another slow breath, looking down at Niall, and makes the decision that he can’t just leave this city as soon as the others. Maybe Niall doesn’t feel the same way, maybe he’s making his own hopeful assumptions whispered to him by the alcohol in his system. The possibilities continue to cloud his thoughts, but Niall pulls him back, leans up and presses his mouth back against his with a laugh. It silences the worries in his mind for just a moment. It may not make sense now, and it may not make sense tomorrow – but Harry is certain of one thing either way: it’s all going to make sense one day. It’s a start of a story, one that makes him proud he had the courage to try and start over again, regardless of how it ends.

 


End file.
